


Looking for Action

by leukozyna



Category: Kasabian
Genre: Crack, Eventual Smut, M/M, i don't know what i'm doing lol, two men laugh while one of them gets blown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-10-20 22:12:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10671792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leukozyna/pseuds/leukozyna
Summary: A joyous tale of morning boners.Otherwise described as 'Serge is a little bitch but he knows he's hot and uses it to his advantage'.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is supposed to be more funny than sexual, I hope it works.
> 
> Big shoutout to my friend @KissMyAsthma who encouraged me to keep writing.

The room was quiet as ever, only the faint sounds of traffic serving as background noise. With a scrunched up pillow tucked under his head, Serge was peacefully dozing, until a not so kind greeting snapped him out of his sleep.

Tom had quietly snuck into the hotel room, hoping to get his friend to have a comforting conversation with him, in light of the awful dream he'd had. Upon tiptoeing towards the bed, he was quick to notice that his mate had moved dangerously close to the edge. Suddenly inclined to mischief, he grabbed the covers. 

In the next three seconds, Serge was on the floor. 

He fell with a loud thud and started mumbling some bullshit before he fully came to his senses. The sight of a distressed, half-conscious beanstalk rustling around in the bedding made Tom laugh, of course, the childish ass that he was. 

"The fuck," Serge muttered, his voice sleep-worn and gravelly. Right after his eyes adjusted to the light, the first thing he saw was Tom's stupid grin. Well, wasn't that a way to wake up.

"Morning!" His visitor was annoyingly energized at this time of day. "You want some tea?"

Serge just kind of looked at him. "What the fuck, mate?"

"Tea it is!" Tom nodded and padded away towards the kitchen.

The taller man tried to untangle himself from the duvet, but it looked more like helpless wiggling. He eventually gave up, sat back and squinted at the wall clock. "Did you just wake me up at six in the fucking morning for some tea?"

"No, you git," Tom offered as he put the kettle on. "I can't sleep and the rest of ’em shut the door in my face. I figured you’d wanna talk."

Serge empathized with his bandmates at that point, but arguing with Tom wasn’t doable, so he just made a whiny noise and sat up. He felt slightly more dizzy than usual, but he was too tired to think about it. Maybe it was the air pressure, what the fuck did he care.

Then he realized he had a rather obvious case of morning wood. 

Well, that explained a thing or two. Shit.

For a minute he wondered if Tom had seen it. Then he wondered if wanting Tom to see it made him gay. Then he snatched a pillow off of the bed and covered his lap, just in case.

Meanwhile, his friend was blissfully unaware of the problem, whistling to himself as he grabbed two cups and set them down on the counter. 

While Tom waited for the water to boil, he rambled to Serge about the weird-ass nightmare he had experienced this time — something about aliens coming to visit him, selling his child to the Conservatives and then pulling him into his toilet. All throughout this, Serge tried to come up with a way to sneak past him without making him notice the boner. The thin sweatpants weren’t doing anything in his favor, and waddling to the bathroom with a pillow on his crotch wasn’t the best of options. Not the most honorable, anyway. In the background, Tom was still going on about extraterrestrials or some shit.

"Mate, are you even with me? You’re acting like all your blood’s in your dick," Tom joked, snapping his fingers to try and get him to listen.

Serge felt like he’d just been punched in the face. "Sorry, what?"

"Were you listening?"

"Uh." He did his best to piece together the parts he remembered. "You got abducted and thrown in a toilet. Tragic."

"Close enough." Tom walked over with an ugly old teacup in each hand. He seemed so shaken by that dream, it was almost comical. "I mean I was fucking terrified, wouldn't you be terrified, Serge? I only ever get shit dreams. Wish I could dream up a fit girl instead."

Serge looked up at him and snorted, receiving a warm teacup while Tom sat on the floor across from him. "As if you know your way around fit girls. Goofy-looking arse." 

This comment sent Tom into a fit of giggles, and they sat opposite each other, laughing like children. "Shit, you're right. I'd rather get me some of that tent."

Oh.

_That_ tent.

Serge went positively red. 

Seeing how tense his friend got, Tom just laughed. "Nothing I ain't seen before."

"When the fu-" Asking about it probably wasn't a wise decision. Serge narrowed his eyes.

"Aw. Happens to the best of us. No need to be so hostile."

"Forget it. Can you look away? I need a piss."

"Take your time," Tom said blankly. He turned, and Serge stiffly walked to the bathroom.

— — —

Serge tried to make his erection relax enough to get this over with, but it was no use. He gave it a moment to go away on its own and just waited in silence. He pictured an ugly old woman from the bus stop he had seen earlier, but his cock twitched at the mental image and he quickly shook the thought. He thought about his friend in the other room but it only perked up straighter. Straighter than he was, it seemed.

Resigned, he waited for another moment and walked back out, still holding a pillow to his crotch. He was thankful that Tom didn't ask him a single stupid question while he was in there.

Completely unfazed, Tom was sitting on the couch, absently flipping through some type of music magazine. He eyed the pillow with suspicion. "You alright, mate?"

"Yeah." Serge sat next to him and opened his laptop to distract himself from the problem instead of facing it. This was hardly the first time he was presented with morning wood, but it was the first time he was too embarrassed to get himself off while his friend was just a thin wall away from him.

"Did you take care of it?" Tom adjusted his glasses on his nose, immersed in an article.

"Mhm."

"Good on you."

For a moment they sat in silence, each of them focused on their separate pastime. Tom toed off his shoes and laid down on the couch but failed to comfortably position his head, so he looked back at his mate. "Can I have that pillow?"

Serge lifted his laptop just a tiny bit, handed Tom the pillow and lowered the device onto his lap agonizingly slowly. This was the opposite of suspicious, of course, which is why Tom absolutely couldn't tell. 

"You didn't take care of it."

Serge pretended not to hear a thing. "Hm?"

Tom reached over and closed the laptop cover, smirking slightly. "You still have a fucking hard-on, don't you?"

"Oh, fucking laugh yourself sick." It came out as a huff, which amused Tom even more.

"Can you not get yourself off, Serge? Poor boy."

"Not when my friend is a wall away, shut up."

"If you need help with that…" Tom cackled to himself and looked back at his magazine, while Serge was still sitting there in agony. 

"Are you propositioning me?"

"Fuck yeah, dead serious," Tom tapped his forehead with one finger to nonverbally call him an idiot. This was a weird turn of events.

"I might be," offered Serge lamely. "I mean, we’re friends, right?"

"Where the fuck does it say that friends get each other off?"

"You literally said it first."

"As a joke, but now you’re seriously asking me to give you a fucking hand-job."

"Uh." Serge looked at his lap. "That’s not what I was going for."

Tom went still. Serge just kind of looked at him, eyebrows raised.

It just struck Tom what the implication was. "You’re not actually- oh _god._ "

Lips slightly pursed, Serge batted his eyes. "Just the tip?"

"What are you, fucking gay?"

"Are you?"

"Er." Tom wasn’t planning on having a sexuality crisis while asked by his friend to give him head. "Maybe I am, maybe I’m not, but I’m not gonna blow you."

"Well then I’m just gonna sit here and pout for an hour."

"An _hour?_ Jesus-"

"Tom?" He used his most effective puppy eyes. "Just this once. Please."

"Oh stop, you look twelve. That makes me want to blow you even less."

"That means you thought about it." 

Tom didn’t know what came over him but it wouldn’t be the only thing that came that day. "God. Fucking get over here."

— — —

A mere moment later, Serge was sprawled out on the couch with Tom awkwardly lying between his legs and pulling down Serge's sweatpants. He imagined that this was equally uncomfortable for both of them, as the taller man refused to look at him entirely. Maybe if he avoided touching him for as long as possible, he would feel less weird about all this.

He didn't have time to think about it. Serge seemed more bored than anyone who was awaiting a blowjob had ever been. "Don't be a child, I'm not gonna cum from one touch," he whined before he lifted his hips off the couch and pulled the sweats to his knees. 

Seconds later, Tom's laugh filled the room. 

If you took this sentence out of context, Serge should've been offended, but he had no reason to feel inadequate. Aside from his choice of underwear, maybe.

Of all the things Tom expected to see, heart print boxers weren't one of them. Especially that it wasn't just any heart print. "Did you get these custom made? This is just—oh god." 

Serge looked at the ceiling. "Aitor pulled some strings."

Tom nearly tucked his face into Serge’s hip, still cackling. "You are ridiculous." 

"And you are treating me like some science experiment. Get to it. Please," Serge sounded like he was scolding him, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. 

Tom huffed, looked up to the heavens (asking the angels to avert their eyes for a while) and hooked his fingers into Serge's waistband, pulling his underwear down. 

Well. 

Was it socially acceptable to tell your friend he had a really nice dick? 

Serge caught him staring and he stretched himself out on the couch, letting his shirt ride up to expose his sharp hipbones. A self-satisfied grin appeared on his face after he felt Tom move up the shirt a bit more, and nip at the soft skin of his stomach. "Gay." 

"I'm trying to get you comfortable so you shut the fuck up."

"Still gay."

Tom smirked and pressed a few kisses to the insides of Serge's thighs before he licked his palm and wrapped it around the base of Serge's cock. Starting with gentle touches as if to test his response, he ran his fingertips along the underside of the shaft, making Serge writhe on the mattress; the tip of his tongue followed suit, and elicited a soft sigh of pleasure. Reluctant to get fully into it, he teased him with a featherlight touch before placing a gentle hand on his hip and taking just the tip of his cock in his mouth.

If anyone told Tom that one day his lips would be on his friend's crotch, and he'd be putting in effort, he would've decked that stupid fuck right away. But there he was.

The feeling took a while to get used to, but it wasn't that uncomfortable, especially that Serge was completely pliant and relaxed beneath him. Tom moved slowly at first, careful not to get anything wrong and not to graze him with his teeth, but it seems Serge was getting more impatient by the minute. "Uh, mate? This is nice but I’m not twelve." 

With every passing minute Tom wondered why the fuck he was putting up with this, but he complied, starting to stroke him in time with the movements of his head. He wrapped his tongue around the head of Serge’s cock, making an obscenely wet noise, and Serge let out a breathy moan as his stomach muscles tightened. By instinct, he reached out to tangle his hand in Tom's hair, but by then Tom was already pulling away. 

He looked up, startled, removing his lips with a pop. "Mate. Was that a real moan?" 

"Are you some type of nurse or can I fucking enjoy this?"

"So you _are_ enjoying it!" Tom’s tone of voice was somehow triumphant. This, and the absurdly proud face expression, was making Serge feel some type of way.

"Tom," Serge whined, looking at the ceiling, "all this talking is making me soft. Please." 

"That's great, I can fuck off now."

Serge pretty much stared a dagger at him. 

"I'll only keep going if you get your shit together," Tom said dryly. "I could just bite you and leave." This threat didn’t result in Serge apologizing, though. Tom looked up just in time to see Serge’s eyes crinkle with laughter, and a shaky laugh spilled from his lips. 

"Oh, what the fuck is it again?"

"You have a bit of, uh…" Serge vaguely gestured to the corner of his mouth. 

"I swear, if you're fucking with me—"

"There is a giant string of spit on your chin. You look like a fucking Rottweiler."

Tom held his gaze and they both burst out laughing. 

" _Jesus,_ " Tom sputtered after he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, "I'm literally sucking your dick here and you compare me to a fucking dog—" 

"A cute one!" Still trembling with laughter, Serge put up his hands in defense. "An, uh… one of those fucking corgis with the bubble butts."

"Will you shut up?"

"Doubt it. Unless you'd rather I was making other noises." The response was paired with a crooked smile, but then Tom moved down and dragged the flat of his tongue over Serge's cock, quickly wiping the stupid grin off of his face. The drawn-out groan slipping from Serge's mouth was much more to Tom's liking.

"Ah fuck-" 

_That's what I like to hear,_ Tom thought to himself, but thank god he had no way of making Serge aware of it. He would probably just laugh in Tom's face, but for now he was squirming in his spot, inching every bit closer to Tom's touch as if he wanted to dissolve into him.

"You're really getting the hang of this," he gasped, arching his hips off the bed until Tom reached out a hand to steady him and press him down onto the couch. Tom's fingertips came in contact with a sensitive spot, drawing a long whine from the taller man, setting his nerve endings alight and leaving him shaking. Truth be told, Tom only knew half of the tricks he was pulling, but Serge seemed to like them and that was all he cared about. 

"You talk a lot," Tom whined between open-mouthed kisses along Serge's shaft. "I half-expect you to say some dumb shit like 'my senses are tingling.' " 

"I hope your senses are telling you how fucking gay you are- _god-_ " A loud gasp left Serge's lips as his hand clenched in Tom's hair. The shorter man would've responded with a smug grin, if it weren't for the mouthful of cock he was easing towards the back of his throat. With all the pretty noises Serge was making, Tom decided this wasn't half-bad.

Then Serge bucked his hips forward and Tom almost cried. 

Still with a full mouth, he yelled something that was supposed to sound like _Jesus fuck_ but didn't, and Serge pulled away with an apologetic look on his face. "Oh my god, I'm—"

"I have a feeling you're trying to kill me here," his words were slurred and his voice worn, but he wasn't too upset, as he was still absently petting the inside of Serge's thigh with one hand, loosely wrapping the other around his base. "Don't you fucking do that again, I'm literally gonna leave."

"M’sorry." Serge awkwardly patted Tom’s hair, while Tom reluctantly moved down again. 

"That sounds like you’re about to tip your fedora at me."

"I don’t wear those, you little shit." 

He faced Serge again, his expression threatening. "What did you just call me?" 

"Nothing. Now please get back here and show me what else your mouth can do."

For about the fifteenth time that day, Tom squinted at him in annoyance. "Do you say this type of greasy shit to everyone? Christ."

"I'm sorry you only fuck people with the lights off and Coldplay in the background."

"Are you calling me boring?"

"Obviously."

"God, you're a cunt." Visibly hurt by that accusation, Tom felt determined to prove him wrong, so he tilted his head and left a sequence of wet kisses up and down Serge's shaft while bringing up a hand to gently massage the tip of his dick. This had Serge squirming within a mere moment, and if his mouth could form something other than a shallow breath right now, he would be apologizing for being such a whiny prima donna already. 

Tom found it funny how quick Serge was to complain about him and tease him with snide remarks, but once he put his mouth on him, he would sink into the mattress and gasp softly while Tom's fingers skittered over his skin, completely giving himself over.

Pressing the flat of his tongue against the sensitive spot on the underside of Serge's cock before he hollowed his cheeks and sucked at the tip, Tom drew a string of long moans from his friend, and he made the mistake of looking up at him. 

With his head tipped back and dark tresses of hair spilled over the armrest, Serge's hands were grappling at the fabric of the couch, his mouth stretched into a sinful O-shape.  


Somewhere between the way Serge's chest rose with a sharp intake of breath, and the pleased sigh he let out as Tom soothed his thigh with his palm, Tom admitted to himself that this was an activity he could get used to. 

This realization made him feel a lot gayer. It's like he didn't know himself anymore. He was about to launch into a full-blown identity crisis while having a cock in his mouth. 

On the upside, Serge didn't know that he was making him at least eight kinds of flustered. Nor did he catch him staring. He could play it cool.

Since his friend was probably too lost in the moment to judge him for it, Tom moved one hand and placed it over his hipbone, relishing how Serge's breath came in a gasp. Still teasing him with short, quick flicks of his tongue along his length, Tom mustered the courage to lightly drag his hands over his midriff. Extending one hand to pet Tom's hair, Serge wriggled slightly to let him know he was enjoying the gesture. 

Around that point Tom noticed Serge tensing up beneath his touch, his breaths turning shallow, one hand clenching on the back of the couch while the other tightened in his hair. He took this as an encouragement to move one palm away from his torso and circle it around his length, twisting his wrist and stroking him slower while still keeping his lips loosely wrapped around the tip.  


With a few final jolts of the hips, Serge's mouth fell open, letting out a series of soft noises that vaguely sounded like Tom's name — and he tipped over the edge, shuddering, all coherent thoughts in his head turning to static. 

Tom had a mouthful of bittersweet taste and a bad case of lockjaw, but the sound of his name on Serge's lips still made him tremble. 

Once he stopped quivering, Serge heaved a sigh, sank into the couch, and almost bit his tongue once he realized what exactly he'd said. He could cover it up by being a cunt, though. "Mate," he looked down on him, a tinge of humor in his voice, "did you just swallow literally every bit of it?"

Removing his lips with a plop, Tom wiped his mouth with his sleeve and avoided Serge's eyes. "So? Big deal." 

With a slight laugh, Serge tucked himself into his pants and almost kicked Tom off of the couch. "With all the times you whined about doing it, yes, it's a big fucking deal."

He felt attacked. Upset, even. "I panicked."

"Panicked?" The taller man dissolved into giggles and hauled himself to a standing position. "I thought you'd gag and hack it up all over the place, I brought baby wipes—"

Wait, what? 

Tom squinted. "Oh what the fu— _You expected_ this?"

By then, Serge was already halfway to the bathroom. "Knew you'd deliver."

"You son of a—" Tom's mouth fell open in shock. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Under his breath, Serge muttered, "All I know is, you're a cock slut." 

It just barely missed Tom's ears. "Do I even get a kiss for all that?"

"Nah, mate. You get a fuck off." Grinning maniacally, Serge shut the door in his face.


	2. Chapter 2

Annoyed at his friend's imminent bullshit, Tom rolled his eyes and left the room.

While washing his hands, Serge briefly looked in the mirror and realized he'd been smiling to himself for the past few moments. He hadn't imagined himself enjoying that morning as much as he did, and truth be told, he was kind of curious about what else he could get out of his best mate. "Now, what about that kiss?" he called out with a cheerful twang in his voice, exiting the bathroom to reveal a disappointing lack of Tom.

Serge wouldn't admit this to himself but he felt a pang of guilt for how he'd handled the situation. After all, Tom had just done him a giant favor — an atypical one at that — and he hadn't even bothered to thank him. The more he turned this thought over in his head, the more he wanted to make it up to him somehow. He didn't want to make Tom feel under-appreciated, because he wasn't, although Serge had just done everything to make him believe the opposite.

Well, shit. Maybe he really was a tiny bit of an asshole.

Once he was struck by the realization that he'd fucked this up big time, he took a seat and thought about how he'd proceed with this whole thing. He didn't want to argue about it, but leaving it undiscussed wouldn't work any better — even more so because they were touring, and their dynamic contributed to how well the gigs went.

He couldn't turn to anybody for advice, because what would that confession sound like? "Today I realized I liked getting head from my best friend but he's upset with me now so I might not get any more"? This made him sound like a greedy old slut, and he was, but he kept that to himself at most times.

He considered going over to Tom's room immediately, but then decided against it, realizing that he would probably get bitched out or pouted at. Come to think of it, pouty Thomas was actually quite kissable, especially when his lips were plump and reddened from how he dragged them across his midriff and ventured lower down—

This wasn't helping. He shook the thought.

Instead of dwelling on it, he chose to wait for this to blow over. They weren't performing until later the next day, which bought him time to think about how he would best deliver his apology. Or, more conveniently for him, he could just not do anything at all.

He would wait it out, Tom would whine a bit and later jump into his arms anyway, right?

Wrong.

Serge spent the day aimlessly walking around town and binge-watching cartoons, which counts as less-than-productive, but there wasn't much else he could do in a foreign city he wasn't all too interested in exploring. At some point in the evening, Dibs suggested that they all go out drinking together, but Tom awkwardly excused himself to savor some milkshakes alone in his room. Serge's feeling of guilt only intensified once he heard him stumble over his words only to maneuver himself out of the situation as quickly as possible. Tom was still upset, or at least that's what he made it out to be.

For that reason, Serge woke up later that day, got his shit together, and decided to talk to him before their rehearsal. This way they could make amends before they were forced to work together — god knows what an argument in the middle of a session would end with. He mustered the courage to knock on Tom's door, and soon they were face-to-face, with Tom looking up at him expectantly while he only got out a weak 'hey'.

In response, Tom gave an eyebrow raise. "What is it, mate?"

"Do you have a minute?"

"Depends," he pursed his lips.

"I have to tell you something."

"Well, is it important or are you gonna show me a picture of a dog in sunglasses and then fuck off again?" Tom tapped his foot, impatient, doing everything to convince Serge that he didn't have time for his nonsense.

Serge's face fell. "It was a cute dog."

"I don't wanna hear about dogs—"

"Tom, I'm sorry."

"For what?" He shrugged, acting completely oblivious.

Serge imagined his friends' reaction to their conversation and almost sank into the ground. "Please don't make me do this in the fucking hallway."

Tom heaved a sigh, considered this for a while and tilted his head to beckon him in, still looking unimpressed with this whole thing. He walked into the tiny kitchen, grabbing a cup of tea off of the counter and focusing on it entirely, until he felt two very long arms slowly making their way around his middle.

Soon he had a scruffy chin pressed into the crook of his neck, which was as nice as it was frustrating. He focused on the frustrating part. "What on earth are you doing?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated, holding Tom closer and slightly swaying him from side to side. Tom tried to struggle out of his grip, but the taller man was holding him in place too securely, poking Tom's cheek with that majestic pointy nose of his. This was becoming an issue. "What the absolute fuck. Let go of me."

"I have something to say. Stop fidgeting."

"Could you just—" Tom grabbed Serge's hands and tried to pry them off, to no avail.

"Fuck's sake, I'm not gonna run away from you. Let go."

"Not until you let me finish talking." His tone of voice was surprisingly soft in contrast with how commandeering he was. Unashamed, he took to petting Tom's side with one hand, both arms still looped around him, as if he wanted to shield him from the world.

Tom played dumb. "Mate, I don't see what the problem is."

"You've been awkward all day, I'm not having that."

"And you're trying to win me over by cuddling me like I'm your wife or some shit?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

Against his better judgment, Tom gave a slight smile. He wondered if he could be mad at him very long, and he wondered what the fuck was happening to him in general.

"I'm sorry for bullying you into sucking my dick and not saying thank you," Serge said, completely out of nowhere, brushing the side of his face against Tom's.

This would've made Tom laugh if he wasn't still bitter. "You're a manipulative little cunt, you know that?"

"I do. That's why I want to say sorry and thank you and I'm gonna stop being an arse."

"And it took you the whole day to come up with that?" Brows furrowed, he took a step forward and hopelessly pulled at Serge's sleeve, wishing for him to let go at some point. No such thing happened. The warm embrace he was wrapped up in made it much more difficult for him to be upset.

"It did, but I mean it," Serge nuzzled into Tom's neck, still latching on to him to avoid him wiggling away. "From now on I'll always thank you after you suck my dick."

Tom almost jumped. "Who the fuck says—"

"Shh. Jokes." He pressed a soft kiss to Tom's cheek, hoping to appease him with more affection, and in all honesty he would've started kissing him either way.

Tom's determination faltered. At this point, he was plain surprised. "Now you're kissing me? After all that not-gay bullshit?"

"Bullshit is the keyword," he admitted, and another peck followed.

"And you realized this now?" It was taking all of Tom's willpower not to laugh in his face. "God, you're slow sometimes. I realized when I heard you moaning my name—"

Eyes wide open in shock, Serge clasped a hand over Tom's mouth. "Mate, what the fuck, they're all gonna hear—"

In no time, Tom pulled the hand from his face, and for some reason he felt the thumb smoothing along his jawline moments later. "I'm gonna embarrass you all I want now. That's what you get. You're a dick," he muttered, trying to stop himself from blushing.

"Correct." More kisses followed, all over the side of Tom's face, one of them falling just beneath his jaw. This made him squirm, which only encouraged Serge to keep going.

"I don't understand how you could play me like that," Tom tried to pull Serge's hands off of himself, and he did, but in no time they snaked around his waist again. With the corner of his eye, he saw a triumphant smile on his friend's face, and he felt himself getting weaker by the minute. Still, he could play at this for a little while longer, just to see what other forms of apology Serge would conjure up.

The man in question rested his chin on Tom's shoulder, lips in a half-pout, slightly rocking his friend to the side as if he was consoling a disappointed love interest. "I shouldn't have done that."

"I mean, how fucking highly do you think of yourself, planning for me to blow you?"

"I know," Serge stroked Tom's side with one hand while his soft strands of hair tickled the back of Tom's neck, causing the shorter man to tilt his head and almost laugh to himself. "I'm so far up my own arse, I can read the next NME from there. I'll work on it, though."

He punctuated this thought with another smooch, which fell suspiciously close to the corner of Tom's mouth.

Tom was supposed to be upset but he couldn't. Heat rising to his cheeks, he gave a crooked smile, wondering what else his mate would come up with if he teased him a bit more. "I don't know if I forgive you yet," he deadpanned.

Serge's expression went blank. "What can I do?"

"For a start I'm gonna make you a list of shit I want you to do for me."

Truth be told, he expected many things, but not this. "Oh, for fuck's—"

"You don't get a say in this, mate, you brought this on yourself."

"Well, what's the first thing?" Despite his annoyance, he was cuddled up to his friend as lovingly as before, only now he had the most emotionless face. "Do you want me to mop your fucking floor when we get home or what the fuck ever…"

For a while he pondered if he should actually say this, but he couldn't stop himself from blurting it out. "How about you actually kiss me?"

"Oh, that's very fucking funny."

"No, for real!"

He dropped his arms, doing his best to sound positively insulted. "Excuse you? I'm not actually gay, mate."

An exasperated sigh followed. Serge barely managed to keep himself from doubling over in laughter at how annoyed Tom sounded. "Serge, I'm seriously gonna punch you in the fucking throat—"

Tom spun on his heel to face him, ready to flip shit, but a split second later Serge was giggling, pulling him in by the hips and closing the free space between them—

Only to get knocked in the face by Tom's glasses.

Muttering some type of expletive under his breath, Serge jumped back and rubbed his temple. Tom held him at arm's length, and flat-out snorted at him. "Is this some type of sign from the universe?"

"I hope the fuck not. But these must go." He reached over, removed the spectacles and set them down on the counter, pulling Tom close and looping his arms around his waist.

Moments before their lips brushed, he looked to Tom for reassurance, and before long he tilted his head and kissed him languidly, nipping at Tom's bottom lip and enjoying the soft sounds of encouragement slipping from his mouth.

In response, Tom brought his hand to the back of Serge's neck and threaded it through his hair, eliciting an appreciative hum from him and wondering what reaction he would get if he dared to tug on it. He had to give a slight laugh as he felt one of Serge's hands making their way down to palm his buttocks. Once Tom smiled into the kiss, Serge figured that his cheeks had probably blushed a bright crimson, in addition to his knees becoming a bit wobbly — this was new, certainly, but it was a very welcome feeling.

"Can we move this somewhere else?" he backed away for a short while, putting on a sultry tone that would probably amuse Tom rather than arouse him.

"I didn't put that on the list—"

"I did," Serge said matter-of-factly, and Tom replied by cupping his jaw and pulling him in for another smooch. He ended up almost backing him against the counter while he tried to maneuver the both of them out of the kitchen. This turned to awkward stumbling and giggling, but eventually Tom took Serge's hand in his and led him along to the bedroom, turning on his heel to fall into his arms right after.

Reaching up to cup his jaw with both hands, Tom pecked at Serge's bottom lip, then gradually moving down across the scruffy edge of his cheek and nibbling on the tender skin of his neck. He didn't clench his teeth hard enough to make him gasp, but his action put a satisfied lopsided smile on Serge's face as he tipped his head back and relished the sensation of Tom's mouth closing around a spot near his collarbone.

Wishing for another soft gasp to flow from Serge's kiss-swollen, parted lips, Tom brought his warm palms to Serge's sides and treated him to the gentlest of touches before he slowly and teasingly pulled up the hem of his t-shirt. He made a mental note to appreciate his friend's beautiful figure this time around, especially that he'd been too awkward to do it before. Reluctant to move away, he momentarily parted from the taller man to free him of his top before he dragged the pads of his fingers down Serge's chest and stomach, later hooking them into the belt loops of his jeans.

Serge had made several questionable fashion choices in his time, but wearing leather skinnies when he was about to get dicked was probably the most regrettable. In no time he found himself being pushed back onto the bed, giggling at the unexpected turn of events, while a very enthusiastic Thomas reached over to undo his fly for him and clumsily shimmy the garment down his thighs. Once done, Tom tossed the item of clothing onto the floor, almost immediately positioning himself on the bed to straddle his blushing companion and roll his hips at a leisurely pace, not letting himself actually grind down on him just yet.

In retrospect, he could've delved right into it.

"I thought we settled this last time. I'm not a fucking pre-teen," Serge teased with some sort of half-laugh. Tom's response was a sharp jut of the hips, which made Serge inhale sharply and reflexively grip Tom's waist to steady him.

Watching his chest rise and hips tilt up, Tom couldn't keep himself from breaking into a grin — if this was all it took to have Serge writhing beneath him, he wondered how he would respond to the different ideas that were coursing through his brain at that moment.

For now, he wouldn't reveal his ploy, so he soothed his friend-turned-lover's torso with lingering touches and established an excruciatingly slow rhythm, waiting for Serge to take initiative or at least offer to help him out of his clothes. Soon enough, the taller man sat up and puckered his lips for a kiss while his hands snaked down Tom's back and one of them crept beneath his jeans, the other bunching up in his t-shirt. Not long after that, Tom was pants-less and significantly happier, quickly returning to sit in Serge's lap and lovingly circle his arms around his neck.

He looked at him with all the fondness he could muster and pressed a delicate peck to his lips. "You know what, luv, how about you lie back and let me do the work."

Serge whined his protest and pulled at his top, saying that he'd rather return the favor, but Tom shoved him back onto the bed and scooted down to pepper his midriff with little kisses. This had him wriggling and inching closer to him in no time. Tom noted that showing him affection and gentleness was a fool-proof method to make him comfortable with the situation and bring him great joy — it somehow warmed his heart that Serge was just as warm and lovey in a sexual setting.

With a soft moan slipping from his tongue, Serge reached out to drag his palms over Tom's skin, but the last thing he processed was Tom's devilish grin before the light-haired man gripped his wrists and slung his belt around them. The sigh of pleasure Serge was in the middle of quickly turned to a faint "what the fuck?" but Tom seemed unbothered; he fastened the restraint to the slats in the headboard and shushed him with a gentle swipe of his hand across his scruffy cheek. "I'm not gonna hurt you, darling, you just need a bit of discipline." He spoke to him sweetly, in a warm tone of voice, basking in the utterly confused expression cast over Serge's face.

"Oh for fuck's sake, what are you up to—" Serge tried to whine about it, but his reddened cheeks and his cock twitching against Tom's thigh were enough to give away how much he was intrigued by this turn of events.

This, of course, boosted Tom's ego; his lips twisted into a lopsided smirk as he began turning over the thought of what he would do next. "It's gonna be fun, I promise."

"What next, you're gonna whip out a pink plug or some shit?"

"Would you mind?"

Serge pulled a face. "Of course I'd mind! I'm not putting anything up my arse, mate, that's a no."

"Would you put anything up mine?"

Serge processed this for a moment, looking at him blankly. "...we're gonna have to work on your dirty talk. Jesus fuck, you're horrendous."

At this, Tom burst out laughing. "Am I still horrendous with my lips around your cock?"

"Yeah, awful. Clearly needs practice."

"Better get to it now, then. You only deserve the best," he finished his sentence with a good-hearted smile before moving down and leaving a trail of sloppy kisses across the lower portion of Serge's stomach, pausing to trace his happy trail with his tongue, before he brought up a hand and palmed him through the fabric of his underwear. Serge quietly mewled and canted his hips up, aching to close the space between them; Tom used this opportunity to remove his underwear for him and later soothingly rub his sides with his thumbs as he set him down again.

Without giving him time to brace himself, Tom leant in to place a few open-mouthed kisses along the length of Serge's cock, once more looking up at him as he smacked his lips and wrapped them around the tip. Serge made an almost inaudible noise, but it reached Tom somehow, and Tom almost smiled around his mouthful before he took him in deeper.

Careful not to move too quickly, he moved his head down as far as he could, then sliding back up and removing his lips with a slick sound. In some sort of a sweet gesture, he placed a small kiss on the tip and later pressed the flat of his tongue to it, paying special attention to the most sensitive spots that would leave Serge a gasping and writhing mess.

Serge would've laughed at his apparently not gay friend kissing the head of his cock (that sentence alone was a rollercoaster to him) if he wasn't enjoying himself as much as he was, mouth agape, a low moan drifting from it when Tom dug his nails into his thighs. Tom tilted his head as he licked down the side of his shaft, slightly brushing the inside of Serge's thigh with his scruffy cheek, and Serge could've ripped off the headboard with how much he wanted to touch him. At some point he forgot that his hands were tied and he launched them forward.

The rattling sound of the wooden planks, paired with Serge's disappointed whine, caused Tom to look up at him; he found himself amused by his desperation, but it also flattered him how much his actions were taking effect. Serge directed his eyes towards Tom and saw him there, looking like the absolute sweetheart that he was — with the most welcoming smile on his face, chin set down on Serge's lower stomach and both palms curled around his cock, looking at him with all the affection he could muster — and he would've caressed his cheek if it weren't for that fucking belt digging into his wrists.

For a while Tom focused entirely on Serge's pleasure, soothing his thigh and stomach with his palms — but by that time he had gotten uncomfortably hard off of the gorgeous noises Serge was making, as well as the sight of him pliantly laid out before him and completely dependent on what he chose to do to him. Rocking his hips against the mattress wasn't doing much for him; he got up, removed his underwear and relished in the lust-clouded gaze Serge was giving him before he straddled him, licked his palm and wrapped it around their cocks.

All throughout this, Serge was watching him intently, his eyes darting to Tom's lips and further down. As soon as Tom aligned their hips together and tipped his pelvis forward, slowly at first, a small gasp came from his mouth and Serge felt himself tremble at the sound of it. Tom grinned, pleased with himself, and established a slow yet steady grind, worried not to get him there too quickly. He wordlessly decided to leave the good parts for later.

A mere few minutes after Tom set the pace, he had Serge just how he liked him: breathing erratically, hair a complete mess, and too overwhelmed with pleasure to make some type of shitty joke while Tom was on top of him. Tom figured it wasn't long before he himself finished, as he felt a series of tiny spasms course through him. He could've made the effort to hold back a bit more, but with all the pent-up frustration he'd been harboring, he preferred to indulge himself all he could.

Serge seemed to be getting more vocal with every passing moment. The need to put his hands on Tom only resurfaced. "Tom," he whined, his breaths becoming more shallow by the minute, "can you untie me, I wanna touch you—"

"You don't get to do anything this time."

"Please—"

Tom caught him gazing back at him in defeat, no longer pulling at the restraints but very obviously wishing them gone, and he had half a mind to fulfill Serge's plea. Still, letting this end how Serge wanted it wasn't what Tom had planned for that day.

"Next time, if you're nice." It came out as a shaky gasp, and he rolled his hips at a more leisurely pace, stroking the both of them in time with his movements as he felt his muscles tighten. This, combined with the pretty gasps and moans Serge was letting out, was enough to tip him over the edge; before long he was spilling over his hand and onto Serge's stomach, a strangled cry drifting from his lips, his surroundings turning to static.

With a final sigh, he heaved himself off of Serge and laid down next to him, once more wrapping his palm around him and giving him his undivided attention; seconds later, Serge was lifting his hips off of the bed and moaning obscenely, probably loud enough for the rest of the hotel to hear, and he felt heat building within him as Tom placed his last few strokes…

…before removing his hand altogether.

Serge's eyes fell open and he found himself immediately snapped out of his trance, looking down at Tom with a mixture of bewilderment and anger. "What the fuck—"

"That's what you get for being a little bitch," Tom shrugged, his tone of voice still sweet and syrupy. It was this part that confused Serge the most.

"You motherfucker," he huffed, throwing his head back and pulling at the headboard, "what the fuck are you doing? Who do you think you are?"

By way of answering the question, Tom pulled off his tee and threw it at Serge's face, scrambling to get off of the bed and wander off into the kitchen. He stooped to pick up his underwear on the way, and once he no longer felt a cool breeze on his tush, he sought a drink that would take a while to get ready — allowing himself to torment Serge some more. After he put the kettle on, he heard a long, drawn-out "what the fuck" from the bedroom, so he went to check on his friend.

He couldn't help but laugh at the sight before him. The man in question was helplessly rustling around on the bed, shaking his head to get the t-shirt off, which looked hilarious to say the least. He was still at full-mast, obviously furious at Tom for how he was making him wait, and wiggling from side to side like a bad impression of a paralytic. Once he realized he was being laughed at, he started pretty much fuming beneath the surface, which launched Tom into another fit of giggles.

"Tom, you little shit, get over here—"

Still sputtering with laughter, Tom barely managed, "Oh, aren't you a precious darling!"

"Precious my lily-white arse, what the fuck, don't leave me hanging like that—"

"I'm gonna make you wait all I want." He proclaimed this with the most gentle expression on his face, almost as if he was sweet-talking him. "You brought this onto yourself. Tea?"

Serge jolted, rid himself of the shirt on his face, and glared at Tom as if he was about to start throwing punches. "You and your fucking tea, Jesus Christ—"

He yelled something at him beyond this point, Tom, however, wasn't listening. He was too busy admiring the blush on Serge's cheeks, hair even more tousled than usual, lips swollen from where he bit down on them and slight scratch marks drawn from the top of his thighs further down — inviting Tom to look at what he wished he could be touching.

He made a heat-of-the-moment decision and moved towards him again, leaning in to slowly lick a long stripe up his shaft without breaking eye contact; at that, Serge's chest sank with the desperate choked-out gasp he let out. It only made him squirm further when Tom brought up his palms to Serge's sides and steadied him, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his stomach and collecting the white droplets pooled there. Hovering above him, Tom placed his hands on the mattress on either side of Serge's face, and dove in to kiss him.

Serge made a vague noise, somewhere between a moan and an appreciative hum, and savored the bittersweet taste for a brief moment before Tom broke away and hauled himself to his feet, walking to the door with an extra sway in his hips. He knew he was driving Serge up the wall, and he seemed to be doing everything to further the damage. In response to the long whine he got out of Serge, Tom looked over his shoulder and made a kissy mouth in his general direction, then leaving the room without a care.

Serge swore he could hear him laugh slightly under his breath. Smug little shit. He adored him and wanted to punch him all at once. If only his hands weren't tied.

The last thing Serge saw was Tom's perky butt disappearing behind the doorframe, and he was alone again, waiting for Tom to get back to him with his tea. As he was surrounded by almost complete silence, he had the chance to think about how fucking weird of a situation he was in. A day in the life, right? The sky was blue, his dick was up, and it had a saddening lack of Tom's plush lips around the end of it.

He realized that yelling at him wouldn't make his situation easier to handle, so he resorted to whining Tom's name in hopes of getting his attention. No such thing happened. For now, Tom was too busy fixing himself some tea. All that reached Serge's ears was the sound of a teaspoon clinking against cutlery, and he forced himself to bite back a long string of insults. That bastard, that maddening bastard was playing him like a harp with the most loving smile on his stupid, beautiful face.

Tom returned moments later, lifting his cup to his lips as if the picture in front of him was completely ordinary. In reality, however, it was taking all of his willpower not to throw himself on top of Serge and once again reduce him to a gorgeous mess with lust-blown pupils and reddened cheeks, letting the most sinful noises fall from his open mouth—

That could wait. For the time being, he could annoy him a bit more.

He took a long sip of his hot beverage, spent a moment observing Serge in silence, and nonchalantly crossed the room to sit beside him on the mattress. His eyes darted across Serge's entire silhouette, from his reddened wrists, past the mussed hair sticking to his sweat-slicked forehead, down the elegant inward curve of his stomach and straight to the tip of his cock, where beads of white were glistening and threatening to spill down his length — and Tom would be damned if this image didn't make his mouth water.

"The fuck are you looking at," Serge uttered, miserably failing to loosen the restraints above his head. Tom would've bitten back in any other context, but Serge looked so adorably flustered, all Tom could do was laugh at his friend's impatience.

"You should see what I'm seeing," Tom gushed, practically loving him with his eyes. "You'd wanna look at it forever. God, you're gorgeous—"

"Well, can you look at me and touch me at the same time?" Serge snapped, acting unamused, but Tom saw his lips quirk as soon as he processed the compliment.

Tom smiled, setting down his cup on the nightstand before he fixed his gaze on the taller man once more. "Only if you ask nicely."

Serge intended to make a face — the kind one makes when ready to kill a bitch — but it turned out clouded with lust, more of a quiet request than a pointed glare. Internally, he was saying 'fucking really?' but he knew Tom would run off again if he protested his antics. Besides, he was desperate enough to tuck away the snarky asshole shtick.

Tom almost melted into a puddle when he met with Serge's pleading eyes, but he wouldn't let him have that. Knowing that this wasn't the type of touch his lover was starving for, Tom slowly smoothed his palm over Serge's inner thigh, reluctant to put his hands where he wanted them. "Say please."

Letting his face fall in defeat, Serge would've preferred to mutter some more angry bullshit, but he couldn't get a word out. This impulse was overshadowed by how badly he needed Tom's soft hands to caress his skin, preferably everywhere at the same time. He tipped his head back to break eye contact and to avoid heeding Tom's order, afraid that he would crack under his gaze.

His breath hitched as soon as Tom's fingertips skittered up his shaft and across his tip, making him whimper and cant up his hips to arch into the touch.

"Look at me, darling," Tom said in a tone that was equal parts warm and insistent, before he cupped Serge's cheek and gently tilted his head towards himself again. "You heard me the first time. Say please." He dragged the pad of his thumb over Serge's bottom lip, appreciating the softness and wondering if he could swoop in and take it between his teeth just then. With his other hand, he swept up the white droplets leaking down the underside of Serge's length, and used them to slick his palm before giving him a few light strokes. Soon they were replaced by the most minimal touches as Tom traced his shaft with just the pads of his fingers, watching his chest rise and fall with every shaky breath.

With Tom's fingers almost dipping into his mouth, heat sparking everywhere they were skin-on-skin, Serge felt himself nearing his breaking point. He squeezed his eyes shut and allowed himself to relish in the feeling, before Tom once more slowed down his movements and nearly brought them to a halt.

Their eyes met for a brief moment — and under Tom's adamant glare, in the smallest, most fragile voice, Serge choked out a barely audible 'please.'

Naturally, Tom pretended not to have heard him. "What was that, love?"

"Please," he repeated shakily, looking up at Tom with watering eyes and a sunken chest, no longer struggling with the belt restricting his movements. He let out an almost obscenely loud moan as soon as Tom's touch became more firm, and a shiver ran through him when Tom leant down and brushed his scruffy cheek across Serge's lower stomach. A trail of soft kisses followed, finishing at the base of his cock, and Serge whined Tom's name while lifting his hips to bring himself that impossible bit closer to him.

Tom responded by reaching up to sweep a loose strand of hair from Serge's forehead, noticing with satisfaction that he was burning white-hot, but he wasn't done tormenting him yet. With another smile that was bordering on angelic, he paused between kisses, "You'll have to try harder." At that, Serge arched his back and groaned, encouraging Tom to hold him down and tease him further with a long lick up his shaft. "I could keep you like this for another hour or so, you're such a pretty picture—"

"God, please," Serge mewled, the crack in his voice underlining his desperation, shutting his eyes and letting his head roll back as the familiar pull in his groin resurfaced. "Please, I'll let you do whatever you want to me, just don't stop, don't leave me hanging—"

Tom cut him off as he wrapped his lips around Serge's cock while stroking him in time, and beyond this point, the only thing leaving Serge's mouth was an incoherent mess — much like the state his overall physique was in. Tom didn't know how he had gotten the chance to look at this beautiful image, but he was definitely thanking his lucky stars. It wasn't long before Serge tensed up beneath Tom, breathing erratically, and he came with a broken gasp wrung from his lips, silence washing over his otherwise racing mind.

While Serge let himself fall back onto the mattress and waited for his breathing pattern to steady, not yet coming to terms with what had just happened to him, Tom rolled on top of him and smiled uncontrollably as he peppered his face with gentle kisses, overcome with affection. With one hand he swept a strand of Serge's hair out of his eyes, and later placed another kiss just below his cheekbone.

He extended his arms to free Serge of the belt tightened around his wrists, gently tracing the marks with his fingers before pressing soft smooches to them, and he reveled in Serge's utterly confused expression as he was still struggling to wrap his head around the past events. All throughout this, Tom held him close and absently stroked his skin.

"You alright, luv?" he asked softly as soon as Serge stopped shivering, wrapping him up in his arms even tighter while he pecked at the tip of his nose.

"I don't even fucking know," he shuddered, and Tom just laughed in his face before kissing him again and pouring all of his heart into it. "Either you googled this or you're a slag, which one is it," he made an attempt at a joke, bringing up his palms to stroke them across Tom's back.

Tom pulled a face, suddenly reminded of his questionable internet search history, which sent both him and Serge into a fit of giggles. They spent a while snuggled up to each other, talking about nonsense or not talking at all, instead kissing like the pair of sappy idiots they were.

"Are we even doing anything today," Serge asked at some point, letting his head roll to the side as he seemed too tired to do just about anything.

Tom tucked his face into the crook of Serge's neck and struggled to think altogether. "Uh, shit. Not sure."

"Someone's gonna beat the door down and they're gonna see your entire freckly arse." "Is that a bad thing?"

"I wouldn't mind being that someone."

Tom grinned and put his arm around Serge's middle, closing his eyes for a moment before he tried to piece their tour schedule back together in his head. "Weren't we supposed to have a rehearsal at, like…"

"…five," Serge remembered, looking at the clock. They had about ten minutes to get their shit together before they were expected on stage. "Fuck."

Serge pressed a firm kiss to Tom's forehead and rushed to get out of bed, then collecting his discarded clothes and pulling them on in record time. Tom hauled himself to his feet and got himself together as well, almost kicking a chair while forcing his leg into his jeans. Moments later, Serge still looked like an absolute mess, but at least his bits were covered.

"Good luck standing up there and not looking like you've been fucked six ways," Tom winked before putting on his final item of clothing and hauling himself out of the room.


End file.
